Unintentional Help
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: John Terrafino has been on the verge of full breakdown during the days following Mary's birthday, and now that it's up to him to take care of the little kids, he can't do it anymore…until one of his new helpers provides the comfort he's been needing.


Unintentional Help

Summary: John Terrafino has been on the verge of full breakdown during the days following Mary's birthday, and now that it's up to him to take care of the little kids, he can't do it anymore…until one of his new helpers provides the comfort he's been needing.

English Romance/Hurt/Comfort Rated: K+ Chapters:1 Words: John T.

**Pairings: **John/OC, because I love John with all of my heart, and he deserves someone to comfort him after Mary stepped out that fateful day.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Gone, but I am really close to finishing LIES, and I wish I was Michael Grant! Wait, that came out wrong…I wish I could write as well as him. =D!

It was just too much.

Mary had looked so…trapped up on the cliff, with the little kids strung over the muddy lip like a chain of fear, as John stood below, just a little kid trapped in this crazy world, whose older sister was withering way. She reminded him of a wax candle; being burned, melting away slowly, growing smaller, weaker, until there was nothing but a tiny stub left, that could be easily ground down. John wanted noting more then to be up there with her, to hold onto her frail body, to hug it close and beg her not to go, not to let go just yet. The little kids fell like stones out to see, some alive from Brianna's swift feet, or Astrid's quick grabs, some dead on the rocks.

So, the kids looked to him, twelve year old John Terrafino, who was only known as, at least from Sam, "that sweet-faced kid, with the bright red curls, who helped his big sister, but could never save her." He had to smile, pretend that Mary stepping out was all part of this twisted game, like her stepping off the cliff was normal, and that he wasn't jealous. John knew that it was probably their mother who had persuaded her into stepping out; oh God, how he wanted to see them again, apologize to Mary for everything, all that had happened.

"Oh, Mother Mary, where is my mommy?" they all asked, only for Mary to cook up a lie, or just soften the truth slightly, considering all of the kids were basically toddlers. Though, not most toddlers had seen a boy with a whip hand, sixth graders with machine guns, or plummeted to their near death on that cliff. All Mary wanted was to be free, to see their mother again, while depression ate away at her, reduced her smile to a permanently chiseled grimace.

"I'm hungry," murmured the little girl in his lap, a phrase that made John laugh in dark humor, rocking her back and forth, the child awake from a nightmare about the cliff, which wasn't a surprise. He had been plagued by similar visions of Mary, his sweet, gentle older sister, stepping off of the cliff, into the warm arms of their mother. He hugged the girl tightly, making sure her limp arms were locked around his neck, before placing her in a clump of kids.

John then proceeded to sleep-walk into the bathroom, where Mary had kept her anti-depressants, remembering how she popped pills like some kind of drug dealers, kept awake at night with the side-effects. There was one more pill of Prozac, rattling around in the cardboard box, just another sign that Mary wasn't going to come back in to swallow it.

Hands shaking, he pulled the purple pill out, placing the anti-depressant on his tongue, swallowing forcefully, but not without allowing tears to slip down his cheeks silently, trying to breathe around the lump in his throat. Why had he done that? He was depressed, but these were Mary's pills, not his, it was just…

John heard someone knock on the door, a little boy, with dark, choppy hair, holding a ratty stuffed elephant in one hand, cheeks concave. "One of the babies are crying," he reported in a sleepy, sullen voice, unable to see John's tears in the darkness. He had to wipe them away, and be strong, to baby-sit all these kids, and tell them lies, and reassure them that everything was fine, when he was trying to tell himself the same thing.

0o0

The next morning was the same as any: wake up hungry, after a long, twisted nightmare involving Mary-a side effect from that damn Prozac-rock a few babies, feed the kids quarter-sized slivers of tuna, and keep the toddlers together. John didn't know if Sam was still issuing the rule that people around the FAYZ had to volunteer at the daycare, but when a girl walked in, he assumed she came to volunteer.

"Here to help?" he asked sleepily, trying to soothe a two year old that had some kind of fever, looking up at the girl, who was about his age. She had pretty blue-green eyes, thick, blue-rimmed glasses, long brown hair, and was almost as skinny as Mary had been. John remembered her walking around his middle school, a shy, bookish girl that never had much to say.

"Yes, and to bring this," she whispered, uncovering her basket, that held a few lone coloring books, a package of stubbly crayons, and what looked like a small box of stale Saltines. Just the thought of crackers made John's mouth salivate, the memory of Wheat Thins suddenly prominent in his mind, resisting the urge to grab the box. She grinned weakly, setting the basket on the couch beside him, smoothing her ratty, stained skirt nervously. "I-I'm Evelyn, Evelyn Grant. My little sister had these coloring books in her bedroom, and my older brother stashed food in his room. But, he poofed, and my baby sister…well, no one found her body."

It was the most John had ever heard her say, but he was glad Evelyn had come, especially with something to occupy the kids and food. "Uh, thanks for coming by," he muttered, reaching into the basket, spreading out the coloring books among the toddlers, instructing them to share the crayons. The fussy two year old grinned at the bright crayons, joining the other kids as they sloppily colored in already drawn pictures of cartoon animals.

"I'd still like to help you with the kids," Evelyn insisted quietly, running a hand obsessively over her long hair, as he invited her to join him on the couch, the two overseeing the children's work. "I-I know losing Mary has been hard, so I wanted to take care of the kids with you, it's nearly impossible for one person."

John held his breath at Mary's name, the mere memory almost like a physical blow, as he clutched the wicker handle of the basket so tight in his hand, it left a red mark along his palm. He felt Evelyn gently pry his fingers from the handle, keeping a careful grip around them. "You are so brave to take care of these kids, you dedicate all your time and energy into keeping them safe. I admire you for that, John," she said quietly, avoiding eye contact.

After hearing those words, John wanted to collapse, just cry like he wasn't in charge, like he was one of those kids; Evelyn reminded him too much of his mother, so warm, so soft, so kind, he wanted to crawl into her arms and sob. But he didn't, Mary would want him to be strong, to support her, the kids, everyone. "Thanks," was all John could utter, allowing Evelyn to gently smooth his cheek, which was still slightly tear-stained.

"I mean it, John," she murmured, the most serious and strong he had heard her, pressing his palms against the stained, tattered material of his jeans, the tears threatening to fall again. "My mother never treated me like this, she was a smoker, I've been walking around blind my whole life. These glasses were stolen, because if I could see, I would've talked to you sometime," Evelyn admitted, as John, just to add to his mixed up emotions, blushed slightly.

"We-we'd better pass those crackers out," John mumbled, unable to figure out what to say, wondering why his speech abilities weren't working, scrubbing at his eyes to prevent the tears from falling. He found Evelyn wrapping her arms around him, and suddenly, John was lost within her warm embrace, knees turning to water, suddenly holding onto the tattered yarn remains of her sweaters.

"It's okay to cry," she whispered in his ear, pulling each hair on his neck up, hoping none of the kids were watching him hug Evelyn. "I know it doesn't seem like it John, but crying helps, crying is okay," she added, rubbing his back, getting a mouthful of his curls. Even though no one in the FAYZ had showered in a while, his curls tasted like sea salt, which, strangely enough, was okay for her. "I miss her too."

Whether she was talking about Mary, or his mother, or any other person he had lost in this God forsaken world, John didn't care, he only knew that right now, he didn't need Prozac. He had coloring books, crackers, Evelyn, and a brand new will to live; crying or not, the kids needed him, and he couldn't deny it.

Only now, he had a little help.


End file.
